The next morning I took leave of my host, who was to return to the duke on the same day. My wounds had been so trifling that, except being obliged to wear my arm in a sling for a short time, I felt no inconvenience from the night’s adventure. The surgeon who examined the bravo’s wound declared it to be mortal: he had just time to confess that he had been instigated to murder me by the revengeful Donna Rodolpha, and expired in a few minutes after.